The Wind Keeps On Singing
by ReginaRiverMayHill
Summary: It's been ages since I've last sat here. Heard the wind blowing in my ears the way a train whistle would blow, begging you not to stay behind in this cruel world. But it hasn't been long enough. Coulson came last time but Coulson's gone. It should be his turn but he isn't here anymore. Just like Coulson. CaptainHill


**A/N This is dedicated to my best friend who's Dad suffers from PTSD and too a friend of mine who's depressed**

It's been ages since I've last sat here. Heard the wind blowing in my ears the way a train whistle would blow, begging you not to stay behind in this cruel world.

But it hasn't been long enough. If it had been that long I wouldn't be here. Not again.

The people walk below me, so oblivious to all that goes on in this building. Under their feet, above their heads, all around them. I wish I didn't know. I probably wouldn't be here if I knew.

But I know. I've seen, witnessed, caused. All of it. I have my eyes open but my hands are over my face, protecting me from it.

The headset strapped to my ears telling me how many dead. How many wounded. All the screams.

The screen in front my face displaying all of them- their bodies. The crooked positions of their necks. The shaking hands. The contortion of their face as they cry out in pain.

My voice giving the order to fall back. To leave the wounded. Because I know there's nothing I can do for them in that state.

My hands on the podium at the group funeral, clutching the microphone as I give out the same speech. The invisible blood that everyone sees dripping from them.

The shadows in my office, always growing with each fallen soldier. Darkness spreading out, threatening to pull me in.

Someday it will get me. It's got me.

His is the biggest shadow of them all. The loudest one howling in betrayal.

Then there are the live ones, staring at me with disgust. Remembering I let their Captain die. Trying to accept the fact I've let our soldiers die. Facing me everyday, telling me I don't have a heart.

I don't think I do. If I did it's too dark, too heavy, too wet with blood to count.

He helped for a while. Making me feel like more than a title. Treating me like a real person. Discovering Maria.

I was a better person with him around. Lighter, happier, nicer. He saved people. Reduced the number of people on those screens howling in pain. Lying there dead.

My hands started to dry, my heart started to lighten, and the guards slipping from my face.

It isn't fair. My whole life had big one trip through hell. At eighteen I thought I could escape the prison that was my home. I could escape the abusive prison guards that were my parents. I could leave behind the graves of the few I'd loved.

Then I came here and it wasn't like this at first. It was one big rollercoaster, heading up, and up, and up. But then on that trip through the desert I hit the drop.

My friends, colleagues, boss. All dead. My first 7.

That was the first time I came up here. Coulson came that time, and the time after, and the time after. Saved me.

But then Coulson joined the shadows in my office. Joined the souls of those I'd loved and loss, those I killed after they'd raped me in front of my father, those I had let die in the missions.

When I was young I used to dream at night, tracing the new and old wounds on my body, that I could run from that life and live some lovely life in the city with happy children and grandchildren, die peacefully next to my husband.

I was naïve. Believing in a false hope that there was some reward in life. But there isn't one. You just keep fighting through everything life tosses at you. Why? Because you still hope that somewhere, before the end life will give up. That it'll leave you in peace and you can live happy.

I know better.

It's like when you watch a movie, you've seen before but your friend hasn't. And there's a boy and girl, everyone wants them to get together and your friend gushes to you about how cute they'd be. But you've seen it before, you know how it ends. And then the boy, or the girl dies and your friend cries into your shoulder and you an only sit there sadly because you knew this was coming.

It was a mission in the middle of nowhere. A desert and a bomb. And he had to be so selfless. Jumping over the bomb, just like he'd done in that practice so many years ago.

The bomb hadn't exploded. He'd gotten up, and his team had run in, when they came. Guns, swords, arrows blazing. It was too dangerous and I had tot ell them to pull back. I hadn't known he was still there.

I like to say if I had I'd of made a different decision.

I wouldn't have.

His team had known, trying to tell my he was still with the soldiers. I didn't listen until I heard is voice cutting through the headset.

"Maria" he was gasping, his voice laced with pain. I almost cried then.

"They can't go back in, protocol . . ." I whispered to him but I knew he knew the rules. I also knew he wouldn't want me to break them.

"I know, I- I- I just wanted to" he rattled and my lip trembled, my eyes threatening to spill.

"I love you Maria" he had said.

I waited 5 seconds then the line went down.

5 seconds was long enough but I couldn't say it back. I hadn't believed in love.

I realize now I did love him.

That love was real.

His body just arrived a couple of minutes ago. I received a message saying the Avengers had landed. I ran, ran all the way up here.

We hadn't received any contact from them since yesterday, when he died. They always found a way home, just this time not together. This time they were short one. Because this time they only had his body.

My office is haunted by him, his shadow reaching and grabbing, trying so desperately to pull me into the darkness with him.

My clothes linger with is touch.

My hair carries his scent.

My hands are wet with his blood.

My heart is heavy with this new kind of grief.

The wind whistles but this time it reminds me of his scream of pain that echoed in my nightmares last night.

It laughs at and mocks me for all I have been through.

I grab the water bottle attached to me leg and pour it over my head.

Maybe it will rid me of his blood.

My hair drips and I scream. Grabbing a lock of hair it's coated in blood. I grab the bottle. A drop of blood slips out of it.

Tears roll down my face.

I'm too heavy for this world. All the blood. All the bodies. All the screams. All the tears.

The pills grow sweaty in my palm. Soon they will be gone, just like everything else I touch.

I open my palm. Blood splats onto my palm and I shiver. I am cold and wet.

"Maria!" he shouts and runs over. I turn my head away.

"You're not here. You're dead and it's all my fault" I cry and he holds me. He is hurt. His arm all bandaged up, face cut and there's a limp in his step.

"I'm covered in blood, broken and shattered. I've killed so many people. They're all there in my office, howling right next to your shadow, pulling me into the darkness. I'm so sorry"

I look down at my palm and then into his blue eyes, buried in his embrace.

"You're not really here" I whisper and run my thumb along his jaw.

I throw the pills into my mouth.

I swallow.

The world starts to fade, in and out, in and out, in and out.

"Natasha! Get over here! She swallowed something" and Romanoff runs over.

"Stay in there Maria. Were gonna save you" he tells me, crying and picks me up.

"Steve?" and the world turns dark.

We were kind of like Romeo and Juliet in a way. That's kind of how it feels.

They think I'll pull through but Steve doesn't look any less relieved.

I feel kind of bad.

I thought if I managed to survive a close brush with death I'd wake up and realize how lucky I am to be alive. Instead I feel like I should be dead.

He's stayed by my side this whole time, brushing his hand over my hair, clutching my motionless hands.

I have a choice to make.

He looks so sad.

Like me.

I cried tears of relief when I woke up.

My hands are dry.

There weren't any hands over my face, protecting me from the horrors of my life.

He is happy too.

I was able to tell him. The first words I said. I love you.

I still feel heavy with the guilt of all their bodies.

I still have days when I don't want to get out of bed, when the shadows scare me to pieces.

But he is here and so are our little girls.

Today I stand on the roof of my house, in the suburbs listening to the wind.

It sounds different now. Not so desperate.

Almost like a song.

A song that I keep singing.

The song of life.


End file.
